


Home Fires

by Leareth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leareth/pseuds/Leareth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of Leandra, the friends who surround her son, and fires that never go out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark

**Author's Note:**

> I'm replaying Dragon Age II, and my heart just hurts for the Kirkwall family. Leandra, in particular, I just want to imagine her watching Hawke's rise, how he builds himself his misfit group of friends, how his love interest (Anders, in my head) moves into the estate, and how proud she is of her son.

The day Garrett turns the key to the Amell Estate is the happiest Leandra has been in years. Malcolm's death, the Blight, Carver killed, fleeing to Kirkwall, living in a Lowtown hovel with her wastrel brother, her children indentured to smugglers, fear of templars, fear of the Deep Roads – it's a list of loss upon loss, and hardship upon hardship. Strong as Leandra has tried to be, when Garrett bows in his new finery and invites her to walk inside, she immediately bursts into tears.

Home. The home she grew up in, the home she gave up, the home that was always rightfully hers. The home she had hoped, on that last day in Lothering, to bring all her children to, and has only brought one. Garrett gathers her close. "I know," he murmurs, then, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right." It's not, really, but she's his mother, she can pretend for him, and pulls away with a tearful smile. "My darling boy, I'm so proud of you. We're finally home. All because of you."

She clasps his cheek with her palm until he smiles that boyish smile of his, only now he's tall and bearded, and so much like Malcolm it makes her heart ache. "I did have help," he says. "Varric and Anders, Bethany …"

He trails off as her lips tighten. Bethany, her sweet, determined mage daughter, who went to the Deep Roads for gold and glory and ended up with a life sentence. Leandra has the deepest respect for the Grey Wardens, but it doesn't change the fact that Bethany did not come home, and now may not be seen again. "What matters is that Bethany is alive and well," she replies lightly, still pretending. "Hopefully one day she can come and visit. Right now—" she runs her hand down to take Garrett's arm, just the way Malcolm did with her at that fateful party so long ago, "—why don't we take a tour?"

"I'd like that."

She leads him through the front door where their new shoes sink into thick wool. First is the entry hall, empty save for a bench waiting for guests, then the cavernous main hall she remembers filled with parties and laughter. The library to the left, and the banquet hall and kitchens beyond that. If the previous owners ( _slavers_ , she shudders, followed by a tired _Gamlen how could you_ ) damaged anything, it's all been fixed and cleaned. There are new chairs and old portraits, the huge wrought iron chandelier still hangs from the ceiling, and the books in the library have been freshly dusted. Sure, the storeroom has to be stocked, and the courtyard badly needs a gardener's care, but overall the estate is just how Leandra remembers it, and each door opens stories: the music soirees her mother hosted, lessons in the study, Gamlen sliding down the banister, her father reading by the fire. She tells all of these to her son while they explore, and watches him imagine deep in thought. "Did you ever regret?" Garrett asks suddenly.

"Regret what?"

"Giving it all up."

The way he asks makes her hand freeze on the bedroom's velvet drapes. "No," she says, surprising herself with the strength of the word. "There were plenty of times I asked myself that, but all I had to do was look at your father, or you, or the twins, and realise no, I didn't regret. Even in the hungriest winter, or moving yet again away from templars, the answer was always no." The velvet warms her palm. "That doesn't mean I didn't miss it."

"Well, now you have it back. My mother deserves the very best." He beams as he watches her move around her parents' room. "Shall I ask Bodahn to bring your things in here?"

"You want me to take this room?"

"It is yours."

It hits Leandra then that this is the first time her son has been surrounded by such comfort and luxury, comfort and luxury that he _owns_. From the way he's standing, it's an idea he's still getting used to. "Thank you, dear, but the master bedroom is for the master of the house. That's you, my first-born son, the warrior who made this all possible. You're—" She blinks. "Actually, 'Lord Amell' doesn't sound right. Lord Hawke. Lord Garrett Hawke, master of the Hawke Estate." The new words roll off her tongue with a surprising ease.

"The Hawke Estate." His lips quirk up further, revealing white teeth behind his black beard. "I like the sound of that."

 _Good_ , Leandra thinks, _I want you to be as comfortable here as I am._ "We may have to get a new coat of arms designed."

"We could just keep the current one. Stylised Amell falcons, we can say they're hawks. Family continuity, plus it'll save us from whatever rigmarole the Viscount requires to have new crests recognised." Garrett wryly leans on the mantle of the fireplace, poking at cold ashes with the toe of his boot as if he can bring them back to life. "Negotiating the purchase legalities for the estate was already headache enough."

For a moment Leandra sees it: the fire lit, her father in his chair with a book, herself a girl in pastel silks listening to him read. There's no chair by the fireplace now, only Garrett, and the image shifts to hopes: Garrett, dozing in his chair, his sword forgotten in a corner, a wife or husband who covers him in a blanket, maybe even a child. A life that had seemed impossible a year ago, now within reach. Leandra thinks she can feel her heart beginning to heal. "Let's do that, then. It'll have to be announced – I'll notify the Viscount, and oh, we can have a party! We need to make connections in Hightown anyway, a party to formally announce you and the Hawke Crest and Hawke Estate would be just the thing. I still know people to invite, and they'll spread word – you should invite your friends."

"My friends?"

"Aveline, Varric, the healer and the ship captain. Even the elves, what are their names again?"

"Merril and Fenris." Garrett shuffles awkwardly. "Although, I'm not sure some of them would be comfortable at a Hightown party …"

The gentle hint curbs Leandra's swelling excitement. Garrett obviously doesn't tell her everything, but Leandra doesn't need it spelled out that some of the friends Garrett has made in Kirkwall are not comfortable with attention. "Oh. Then, how about two parties? One for Hightown, and one for your friends?"

She offers the suggestion hesitantly, not wanting to imply that she thinks his friends are now below him, and feels relief when Garrett's attempted smile relaxes into a proper one. "That's a good idea, I'll see when everybody can come." Suddenly he pauses in a way that briefly makes him seem thirteen again, when he was all scrawny limbs and hypersensitive to parental interference. "Would you be hosting both parties?"

Leandra has to laugh at that. "I'm already getting dinner invites from people. In all likelihood, one of them is going to clash with whatever party you plan. Although," she adds, smile turning mischievous because she can't let him be _too_ comfortable, "as your mother, I should at least say hello to your friends, right?"

 


	2. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leandra winds up hosting her son's party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I keep wondering about Leandra in this game: how much does Hawke tell her about his adventures? After losing so much in Lothering, how does she handle Lowtown, how well does she re-integrate into Hightown? How does she get along with each of Hawke's friends? And can I pretend, for as long as possible, that this found family of misfits lives happily together in Kirkwall?

The way they lived, there was never much room for new things. New shoes, yes, at least when there was coin, and other essentials like knives and pots that soon dulled, but toys and clothes, never. Things like that were picked out of Chantry donation boxes and abandoned crates, or given by those with more charity than need.

There was the wooden mabari, Leandra remembers, which Malcolm found by a road in Amaranthine, and which lost a leg to Garrett's teething. Later, the mabari toy had been passed to Carver, who lost it somewhere on the way to Redcliffe and cried for days. There had been the old doll a Highever farmer had given Bethany, the wooden off-cuts Malcolm turned into swords for Garrett and Carver, and all the second-hand clothes Leandra repurposed for both coin and growing children. Even in Lothering, where they buried Malcolm and dared to call home, much of what they owned had previous lives from other hands, and by then it was a way of life: Garrett scanning used-good piles with a treasure hunting grin, Bethany reading stories of former owners in cracks and creases, Carver rubbing his hands at the challenge of repair. Skills and eyes to tell between damaged and broken, and find richness in imperfection.

It doesn't surprise Leandra that Garrett has a collection of damaged friends.

The first to arrive is Aveline, no surprise since the Keep is so close, and just in time to see Garrett suddenly and inexplicably leave. She holds a bottle of fine spirits and bows in a manner that makes Leandra's pursed lips at her son's departure soften. "Lady Amell. Thank you for having me here this evening."

"My pleasure, Guard-Captain," Leandra replies, "and congratulations again on your post." She notes the younger woman's outfit: linen shirt, leather jerkin and trousers, fitted boots, characteristic headband, the sword and shield she is unslinging from her back. Simple and utilitarian in a way that reminds Leandra, achingly, of Ferelden, and she opens her arms with a smile. "It's good to see you, Aveline."

Beaming, Aveline hands her weapons to Bodahn to put away before striding over to hug Leandra, leather and linen meeting silk and velvet. "Oof! You're as strong as ever, dear," Leandra laughs when they part. "I'm surprised you didn't turn up in full uniform."

"I nearly did, before one of my guardsmen reminded me that a party was off-duty." Wisps of red frame Aveline's face glowing in the firelight. "He also suggested that I leave my sword, but I feel naked going anywhere unarmed."

Leandra chuckles. "You're out of armour, that's already something. And you look wonderful; captaining the guard obviously agrees with you."

"It has its headaches, but I believe I've found my place." Aveline smiles. "All thanks to you."

"Me?"

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you." The smile turns wistful. "The day we met was one of the worst in our lives, but _we met_. Because we met, I came to Kirkwall. Because I came to Kirkwall, I found a new purpose, and because of your son, I found a new place. Captain of the Kirkwall City Guard." Aveline draws herself up, her simple clothes suddenly as formal as silverite plate. "It's my duty to protect Kirkwall's citizens, and when it comes to you, Lady Amell, an honour."

Leandra waves off the title with a forced laugh. "Please, Aveline, just Leandra. We've been through too much to stand on ceremony—I hope you haven't started calling Garrett 'Lord Hawke'?" Aveline snorts at that, which makes Leandra's laugh come more easily. "Why did my son run off and abandon his first guest, anyway?"

"He said he was going downtown to make sure people come to the party. He told me to make myself at home."

It's a long, steep walk from Lowtown to Hightown. Leandra hopes it doesn't stand between Garrett and his friends. "And so you should. After everything you've done for us, you're always welcome here. Now, why don't we go open that bottle?"

Firmly, Leandra takes Aveline's arm and leads her to the library. She asks Aveline about news from the Keep, Aveline asks how she's settling back into Hightown, and by the time Aveline has a full wine goblet it could be like any other visit of Aveline's after a Lowtown patrol. Sometimes she brought fruit or bread, sometimes she did not, but always she made time to speak with Leandra about Kirkwall, or Garrett and Bethany, or—more quietly—how to live on after a husband's death. Leandra doesn't know if she said much of use, but Aveline always appreciated that she said it.

A knock on the door echoes through the estate, and by the time Leandra makes her way back to the hall Bodahn has already let in the next guest. It's Varric, dressed in his usual duster and open-necked shirt, earrings glinting like sparks. He carefully gives his crossbow to Bodahn to put away before tilting his head back taking in the estate's high ceiling. "Hey, Hawke!" he calls out, arms spread and grinning. "Nice to see the place scrubbed up, that's another one you owe me—"

Leandra takes a deep breath. "Master Tethras," she says, and Varric spins like a startled nug. "My apologies for my son as he's just stepped out, but please, let me welcome you instead."

The dwarf bows. "Milady. Whatever class Hightown possesses, it's surely been elevated since you've moved in. I trust that you're enjoying the change?"

His easy voice has gone careful. Leandra doesn't blame anyone for what happened to Bethany in the Deep Roads, but there was a time not long ago when she did, and Varric knows it. The fact that he obviously feels guilty for his part is of little help. "It's wonderful," Leandra replies politely. "Waking up safe and comfortable in my childhood home, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not dreaming. I should thank you especially, Master Tethras, for helping make it feel like home again so soon."

"Oh, it was nothing. Contractors, supplies, project management, it's what I do best. Well, maybe third best, after stories and shooting things." Varric is visibly relaxing. "Also for once I had an actual reason to attend Merchants Guild meetings, which means I can now go back to skipping them." He glances around the huge, firelit main hall. "You said that Hawke stepped out?"

"To Lowtown, I believe, to collect some people for the party? But Aveline is here in the library."

"Collect people? The only one who'd need collecting is Daisy, and I thought Rivaini was taking care of that. Uh, Merrill and Isabela," Varric adds when Leandra blinks. "Sorry, I use nicknames so often, I forget it can confuse people."

"It's very sweet of you. Come this way." She thinks of Bethany giggling _he called me Sunshine_ when describing the fateful day she and Garrett met the dwarf now walking at Leandra's side. The memory twinges now, instead of hurting. "So what's Garrett's nickname?"

"You know, I actually never gave him one. A good nickname should come to you on first impression like a punch to the face, and when we met that didn't happen. Now I'm too used to saying 'Hawke' to call him anything else." He grins. "You, on the other hand, have always been Milady."

She's blushing before she knows it. "Master Tethras—"

"Please, just Varric. 'Master Tethras' makes me think of my brother, and I'd rather not do that now unless it involves red-hot pokers and hornet nests." His lip curls, and Leandra wisely does not comment. "Stories, on the other hand, those are worth thinking about, and since you have a library—" he pulls a book out from a pocket. "A house-warming present. For you, Milady."

With a flourish he hands her the book, making Leandra gasp. " _Swords and Shields_? You've printed it?"

"On my very own press." Varric preens. "And that's the very first copy—since you've been enjoying the serialisation so much, I thought, why not collect the chapters into a proper book?"

"A book?" This from Aveline, coming down from the library's upper level with goblet in hand. "Varric, what have you written this time?"

"Nothing your Guard-Captain hat needs to get in a twist about. Forbidden love, romance—probably not my best work but it's a break from hard-boiled city guard adventures. Certainly it's much more popular with the ladies."

"I can attest to that." Leandra tries not to dwell on how awkward her first ventures back into Hightown society have been, but holding Varric's book she already feels more confident, even excited. "You must sign it for me—I'm to go to the de Launcets party in half a bell, and this will make Dulci so jealous."

"With pleasure, Milady—"

"And you, Aveline, you must read it! It's wonderfully romantic, perfect escapism, sometimes the only way I could get through another day in Lowtown was to ask Bethany to read this aloud—"

She breaks off. Varric is wincing, and Aveline has gone from smiling to concerned. Leandra wonders if her frozen smile looks as painful as it feels— "Mistress Amell?" The stout figure of Bodahn appears in the library doorway. "I'm needed in the kitchen, but there are two ah, _strange_ ladies at the door, are they more of messere's friends?"

Varric laughs awkwardly. "Sounds like Rivaini and Daisy. Let them in, Feddic, we—oops." He bows to Leandra. "Beg pardon, Milady, I'm forgetting my place."

He's given her an out. Leandra forces her smile to relax. "It's quite all right. Do make yourselves comfortable, I'll be right back." Leaving the book with Varric and Aveline, Leandra hurries out to the main room, catching her breath as once again, she wishes Bethany never set foot in the Deep Roads. But she did, it can never be changed, and with Garrett still inexplicably absent Leandra still has to carry hosting duties. She will, however, have _words_ with Garrett about Hightown etiquette when he gets back.

The two women Bodahn lets in are indeed, as he said, strange. Leandra recognises them both, although she's rarely had reason to speak to either. Isabela swaggers into the room like a cat, firelight curving around her thighs and cleavage before glinting off her jewellery. She's holding a small cask under one arm and hands her daggers to Bodahn with a wink. Following her is Merrill, slight and dark in elven green, her arms wrapped around another cask and turning round and round as she stares up trying to take everything in. "It's so big!" Merrill exclaims. "I think my whole clan could fit in here and we'd still have space to rattle around like marbles—"

"Captain Isabela, Merrill." It feels rude to call them by their personal names, but Leandra knows no other name to use. "Allow me to welcome you to the Hawke estate."

"Mistress Hawke." Isabela cocks the cask against her hip and bows in a way that seems amused. "A pleasure—and just Isabela, since sadly I don't have a ship to be captain of right now."

"Hello!" Merrill chirps happily. "Isabela suggested that we bring something to drink, isn't that nice? Your house is lovely, all stone and big spaces like caves on Sundermount, only you obviously don't have the spiders or skeletons so it's much cleaner. Better, I mean."

Leandra blinks. "I ah, thank you." She's never had much experience with elves other than as servants, and despite living by the alienage for over a year she rarely interacted with its residents. Certainly Leandra has never met a Dalish elf before Merrill, and she is nothing like Leandra's imaginings from books and tales. "I hope it wasn't difficult to get here carrying everything from Lowtown?"

"Oh no, Isabela brought me so I wouldn't get lost. The last time I tried to come to Hightown myself I ended up in a smelly hole that went far underground—what was it called again?"

"A sewer, kitten." Isabela's lips quirk affectionately.

"That's it!" Merrill beams over her cask. "I'm still learning all the words you humans use in cities, some of them are so funny. Like _sewer_ , I would have thought it meant someone who sews clothes, but it's a smelly hole full of—I'm talking too much, aren't I. That's impolite, I'll stop now."

Her huge eyes droop with embarrassment. "No, no, it's fine," Leandra finds herself hastily saying, and immediately Merrill brightens. "I've never thought about how a city must seem to the Dalish, I mean, city elves have adapted so well it's hard to imagine they were ever like you …" She trails off as she sees Isabela make a face that's only marginally less of a wince than Merrill's expression, and too late Leandra realises how little she knows about elves, period, and she'd better find a safer topic. "Ah, have you been enjoying the city?"

"Not that much. I mean, the only trees are behind walls, Lowtown never gets any wind, I can't use magic openly, the city elves give me strange looks and have forgotten even more than the Dalish. But this part of the city is nice." Merrill gives a sunny smile. "You looked so glum and crotchety whenever I saw you around Lowtown. Now you're much happier."

To this Leandra's manners fail to supply a response. Lowtown has been receding into an unpleasant dream, but for a heartbeat it all rushes back: the dark, airless hovel never made for one person's habitation, let alone four; the rats boldly running through the market; the leaking chokedamp constantly making Leandra ill. There had been days Leandra hadn't had the strength to get out of bed, days she had spent in helpless tears, and days she had shouted at Gamlen, at Garrett, even Bethany for no reason other than her despair. They are not days Leandra is proud to remember. "Thank you, Merrill," she says finally. "I am happier here, and I'm happy to see Garrett living as he deserves."

"Where is Hawke, anyway?" asks Isabela.

"I don't know," Leandra admits, glad for the change of subject. "Apparently he was going downtown to fetch people for the party, but I'm not sure who."

"Probably getting Anders. A man who keeps forgetting to eat isn't going to remember a party. Speaking of parties, weren't you going to one?"

The way Isabela asks has a whiff of challenge about it. "I am to go to a party tonight, yes," Leandra says, glancing at Isabela's cask and dress. Of all the people Garrett has made friends with in recent months, Isabela is the one who often gives Leandra pause. The woman is everything Leandra's mother would have disapproved of: independent, unapologetically sensual, and a pirate to boot, which means she's also the kind of woman a young Leandra would have been awed by. Bethany had reacted no differently, and Garrett, too, obviously likes Isabela's company, possibly more. Leandra admits that she hopes to find Garrett a nice Hightown girl to cement his place here, but at the end of the day if Garrett decides to take up with someone else, even a pirate in scandalously short skirts, he's old enough to do so. Certainly Leandra isn't one to talk about parent-approved partners, and she will not do to Garrett what her mother did to her over Malcolm. On the other hand, if Isabela hurts Garrett in any way, Leandra knows Aveline would happily help her kick Isabela out of the city. Not that that's necessary right now. "It starts in half a bell or so, so there's no need to worry about me supervising Garrett's party and spoiling the fun. Just try not to let him drink himself _too_ stupid, or leave _too_ much of a mess, please?"

"Oh, but that does spoil the fun," Isabela purrs, edged and low. Merrill looks confusedly between them. "Hawke's so lucky to have a mother like you – do you still spank him when he gets into trouble?"

The note in Isabela's tone makes Leandra stiffen before she glimpses something: defensiveness, perhaps even a shade of bitterness. She thinks of how Isabela bowed, mocking not of Leandra personally, but the performance of society manners in general. This barb feels similarly aimed. "Garrett is a man grown, and capable of bearing the consequences of his decisions," Leandra replies carefully. "That doesn't mean I don't worry, so yes, I will sometimes scold my son when he does things that make me scared for him."

Something changes in Isabela's face. Merrill, on the hand, looks wistful saying, "That's so sweet—"

A knock on the front door thuds between them. "I ah, I'd better get that," Leandra says, inwardly grateful to whoever has arrived. "Varric and Aveline are in the library, why don't you go join them?"

"Ah, yes, Captain Man-Hands is here. Joy." Isabela sighs dramatically as Merrill exclaims, "Ooh, I hope Varric brought cards!"

"The library is over there," Leandra gestures off-side to where Aveline and Varric can be heard talking, then hurriedly leaves the two women for the relative privacy of the entry hall. She hopes the knock is Garrett returned to take control of his own party, except it can't be Garrett because he has a key, which means it must be another guest. Leandra can't imagine who as she opens the door-- "Dear Maker!"

There's a tall elf with white hair and black armor looming in her doorway, carrying a wine bottle in one hand and greatsword on his back. He blinks down at her obviously expecting someone else. "Greetings," the elf says, and his deep voice is just as intimidating as his appearance. "I'm … here for Hawke's party?"

It takes a moment for Leandra to compose herself enough to remember the elf's name from Garrett's descriptions. "You must be Fenris," she replies, relieved that her voice sounds steady. "I'm Garrett's mother, he's gone out for a moment, but the others have arrived—please, do come in."

She stands aside for him to enter. Fenris does so looking around in a way that makes Leandra think he's already noting exit routes, and making no move to take off his sword. Like Merrill he doesn't wear shoes, and like Merrill his skin is marked with scrolling tattoos ( _vallaslin_ , an old history tutor whispers), but that's where the resemblance ends. Fenris is the very opposite of Merrill's sweetness: cold, with deep furrows about his eyes, his mouth hard and thin. How he came into Garrett's circle Leandra doesn't know; all Garrett has mentioned is that Fenris is a former slave from Tevinter. For her part, all Bethany mentioned was that Fenris loathes mages.

Having two apostates in the family, Leandra tends to be wary of people prejudiced against mages. And yet, during their brief acquaintance, Fenris never told the templars about Bethany, and according to Garrett, Fenris knows when to agree to disagree. If Garrett has seen fit to invite Fenris to the estate, then Leandra will extend both her welcome and goodwill. "Ah, was it a pleasant walk from Lowtown?" she asks hesitantly, leading him into the main hall.

"I wouldn't know." Fenris glances narrowly at her from the corner of his eye. "I stay not far from here."

"In Hightown?"

"Yes."

"You've found employment with one of the noble houses?"

"No, I've acquired my own house." The sword on his back clinks as he moves, discouraging further enquiry. "You said Hawke went out?"

"Yes, to fetch Anders, I think." The moment she says the healer's name Fenris makes a sound like he's caught something distasteful between his teeth. "He should be back anytime now."

Or so she hopes. Hosting so many strange people by herself is tiring, Leandra still has her own party to get to, and Fenris is now looking at her in a way that makes her skin prickle. "You seem … uncomfortable with me," he says at last.

"I—" The instinct to fall behind manners falters under Fenris's large green eyes which leave nowhere to hide. "A little. I've never met anyone like you before."

"An ex-slave?" he growls out.

"Intense," Leandra says apologetically. "I don't think you smile easily. Also, it's generally polite for a guest to remove their weapons when entering someone's home."

Fenris blinks, turns his head, and looks at the sword hilt protruding over his shoulder. "Ah," he says, and flushes. Telling age with elves is never easy, but Leandra suddenly has the distinct impression than Fenris is younger than his furrows imply, and shudders to wonder how much of that youth was spent enslaved. No wonder Garrett extended his hand to him. "My apologies. I forget I carry this."

He unbuckles his broadsword with practiced ease before looking around uncertainly. "Put it here," Leandra says, gently guiding Fenris to the corner where Bodahn's boy keeps his enchantment apparatus, "it'll be quite safe, and you as well. Here, the custom is once a guest welcomed into your home, that guest is under your protection."

"A custom found in many parts." The broadsword slips a little, scraping against stone with a sound that makes Leandra's teeth clench until Fenris adjusts the sword's balance to lean against the wall. "Although I've never before had the benefit of it—"

"Fenris, there you are!" Isabela sashays into the hall with conversation and laughs floating behind her. Leandra thinks she hears Merrill yelp. "What are you doing scaring Hawke's mother? Hurry up and get in here and—are you happy to see me?"

She's looking towards Fenris's hips. "It's a bottle of Aggregio, Isabela," Fenris says dryly, lifting up the bottle for show. "I hope that doesn't disappoint."

"Only if you're going to keep it closed like that." She raises an eyebrow. "Would you like a glass, Mistress Hawke?"

The offer takes Leandra by surprise. "Thank you, but no, I need to leave for the de Launcets soon."

"No pre-drinks? That's no fun. More for us, then—come along, Fenris, I've got a grand idea for a drinking game for us to play."

"Does it involve guessing the colour of my underclothes?"

"Why, however did you know …"

They disappear into the library, Isabela with an arm linked through Fenris's, Fenris with an awkward nod to Leandra. Leandra watches them go and lets out a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. Then she decisively heads for the stairs.

Her bedroom looks out over the garden courtyard. Closing the door cuts out most of the party noise, but it still floats in through the open balcony door and Leandra tries to tune it out as she briefly closes her eyes. She tells herself that once she was good at this, that there was a time when she could confidently walk into all the parties, join every conversation, and be the centre of everyone's attention—but that was decades ago. Here and now, her mind is turning over every word she's said to Garrett's friends, every fluctuation in tone as she wonders if she insulted anyone or made them uncomfortable, until her chest feels tight and the pulse pounds her ears. She starts imagining the de Launcets' party—which must have started by now—and what likely awaits her: stiff conversations about moving back, condescending remarks about her brother and Lowtown, insensitive questions about Malcolm and intrusive ones about her children. For a moment Leandra thinks it would be better to stay in her room instead of going out. Then she remembers how happy she was to be invited, and how quickly she said yes.

Parties like these, and all the cheer, comfort and community they hold, are why Leandra came back to Kirkwall.

Downstairs, Garrett's party sounds like it's happily taking care of itself. Breathing a little easier, Leandra opens her eyes and goes to check her hair and dress. She'll go back out there, maybe even share a drink with Garrett's friends as practice before before leaving for the de Launcets … there's a familiar voice floating up from the garden, and Leandra immediately turns to it. Relieved, she heads out onto the balcony to look down into the garden, which has been mostly cleared of its overgrowth and is now brown dirt and worn flagstones lying dark in the evening shadows. In the nearby wall is a servant's door falling shut behind a large shadow Leandra immediately recognises as her son. He's speaking with another shadow beside him. "Garrett Hawke," Leandra says crisply. "Where in the Maker's name have you been?"

The shadows turn up to face her. "Mother!" Garrett calls back. "I thought you'd be at the de Launcets by now?"

"I could hardly leave your guests without a host. Get up here and explain yourself."

Garrett glances at his shadowed companion as they exchange some words. Then, "Yes, Mother," Garrett sighs, climbing the garden stairs and into the light of Leandra's window. He's in his armour with broadsword, and the man following has familiar blond hair and feathers on his shoulders. "Are you in trouble?" Anders whispers.

"Probably," Garrett whispers back, the night air too still for their voices _not_ to carry. "And you're laughing at me."

"Me? No, never, whatever gave you that idea ..."

They reach Leandra's balcony where she stands with arms folded. "I've just spent the better part of an hour hosting your party in your place," she says, and Garrett shuffles his feet the same way he has since the age of six. "Much as I welcome getting to know your friends, they are _your_ friends, I have my own appointment to keep, and as lord you now have to meet certain standards of etiquette. I hope you won't repeat this disappearing act at future events."

"I won't, Mother. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." She sighs and glances at Anders, who is lurking awkwardly by the balustrade trying not to intrude. "So what happened?"

"It's my fault," Anders apologetically jumps in before Garrett can speak. "I may have said I couldn't come due to patients—"

"More like you wouldn't take a break." Garrett mutters.

"—so Hawke came to drag me to the party. I protested, but he's persuasive."

"I'm not celebrating a new house without those who helped me get the house," Garrett declares firmly. "You also saved my sister's life and won't even let me buy you a new pair of boots as thanks. Getting you out of Darktown with some proper food and drink for a night is the least I can do."

"As I said, you don't have to do _anything_ for me—"

"And I keep saying you're wrong—"

Leandra finds herself smiling. "Boys," she says, and the two men stop. Still they glance sideways at each other, and Leandra notes that, another hint of whatever it is between them that came out of the Deep Roads. "The important thing is that you're now here, and your party has already started, as has mine. Go take off that sword and armour, I'll show Anders downstairs on my way out."

"Shouldn't I escort you to the de Launcets?"

"The Hightown guard patrols will be enough. Go put on something more appropriate."

Garrett gives the apostate a contrite grin. "I've been told. Tell everyone I'll see them in a minute."

He strides off for his own bedroom, knocking the door-frame with his sword-hilt with a sound that makes Leandra wince. "Bit of a force of nature, isn't he," Anders comments.

"He's headstrong, that's for sure." Leandra sighs and smiles and extends an arm out towards the door. "Shall we?"

Anders briefly hesitates, then moves to Leandra's side. The feathers of his coat brush her shoulder with the familiar scent of elfroot and lyrium. "Has it been busy in the clinic?" she asks as they walk.

"Always. The change in season is bringing all the usual problems, which is one reason I thought I shouldn't come. But I'm glad Hawke made me." He glances her up and down. "You seem to be in good health. Your cough hasn't come back?"

"Not since I moved up here. Thank you again for all the healing you gave me in Lowtown." And not just healing - when Garrett, Anders and Varric returned from the Deep Roads, rich with gold but without Bethany, it had been Anders who had patiently sat with Leandra telling all the information he could about the Grey Wardens to give, if not exactly peace of mind, then understanding and acceptance.

"Healing's what I do best. And yet, the way the Templars go about their raids, you'd think I was having weekly demon orgies."

He smiles in a way Leandra recognises from whenever Malcolm tried to make light of another decision to move. "Have they been hunting you?" she asks, alarmed.

"Oh, on and off. But they stand out in Darktown like shiny sore thumbs, and the refugees there cover my back. Despite them not having much on their own backs." Suddenly the mage stops, right in the middle of the stairs, and looking at her with eyes bright with what Leandra takes as inspiration. "You could help them, you know. A Fereldan refugee now one of the Hightown nobility, you could do so much: spread awareness, make people understand that they're only here for a better life, set up a charity—I mean, donations shouldn't _just_ come from the Chantry, which is utterly useless anyway—"

His passion takes Leandra aback. "I-I don't know. I've just moved in, I'm still trying to get used to things again, so I don't think…" Anders's face is falling, and Leandra bites her lip. "But once I'm on my feet, I'll see what I can do? I mean," and here she tries to laugh, "noblewomen need something to do with all their time, right?"

"It'd be a start." The smile Anders puts on takes away some of the sting. "Every little bit helps. And you'll find your feet sooner than you think—you've survived running from Templars, a Blight, poverty and more, what's Kirkwall high society compared to that?"

A challenge in its own way, Leandra thinks, but Anders does have a point, a very good one, and whatever lingering anxieties she has about the de Launcets' party suddenly lighten. Footsteps above save her from answering, but. "You charming my mother, Anders?" asks Garrett, still fixing his housecoat.

"Just suggesting that now that you're in Hightown, you're in a position to do a lot of good."

"So yes, then." Garrett pushes between them and crooks his arm, offering it to Leandra to take. "I still think I should escort you to the de Launcets …"

"Oh, pish, dear," Leandra scolds as they descend rest of the stairs, Anders following behind. "You're already late for your own party, and they don't live far. I'll be fine."

"If you say so—"

"Hawke, you're back!" Merrill bounds out of the library with a beaming smile on her beer-red face. "And you've found Anders, and ooh, Mistress Hawke, just who I was looking for! I saw that you have a garden outside, only it's not really a garden at the moment, and I was wondering, would you mind terribly if I did something to it to make it into a garden? Just a little one?"

Leandra blinks to have Merrill's huge eyes plead at her. "I, ah, certainly? I mean, as long as Garrett doesn't mind what you do—"

"I know nothing about gardening, remember the mint in Lothering?" Garrett grins as Leandra laughs. "Merrill, you can do whatever you want to that dirt patch, only condition being that my mother likes it."

"And no walking trees," Anders adds. "Those are _nasty_."

"What's nasty?" asks Isabela, coming into the main hall where, the moment she sets eyes on Garrett and Anders, she gives a slow smile. "Or considering that you're late together, was it _doing_ the nasty?"

"Good to see you too, Isabela, and please, no friend fiction in front of my mother—”

"But how can I resist when it makes Sparkle-fingers blush like that—"

"Friend fiction?" Leandra looks confusedly between Isabela and Garrett. "What's friend fiction?"

Isabela bursts out laughing as Garrett winces. Leandra suspects maybe she shouldn't have asked— "I'm going to get a drink," Anders declares, trying to push past Leandra and Garrett down the stairs while avoiding eye-contact.

"I _think_ friend fiction is—"

"—harmless fun and pranks between good friends," Varric interrupts Merrill smoothly. He joins the gathering around the stairs followed by Fenris and Aveline, which blocks Anders's escape. "Nice of you to join us, Hawke, we've just tapped the second cask and there's a mug with Blondie's name on it. Sure we can't convince you to have one, Milady?"

The dwarf is back to his usual expansive smile. "Oh, no." Leandra laughs. "I'm finally going to my own party."

"About time," Isabela quips. "Making your mother sacrifice her own fun to look after us? Hawke, you should be ashamed."

"Please, I've already been scolded—"

"Do you need a guard?" Fenris asks.

Leandra shakes her head. "The streets are still safe at this hour, and I won't be walking far."

"But you should definitely have an escort coming home." This from Aveline, still looking serious despite pinked cheeks. "Get one the guards outside the de Launcets to escort you back, tell 'em it's an order from me."

"Or send a message to us to fetch you," adds Merrill.

Anders snorts. "Those of us still standing, at least."

They've all gathered around Leandra now, seven pairs of eyes each watching her with humour, affection, concern or care. "Thank you everyone," she says warmly, "but there's no need to stop the fun on my account. I'll be fine, and if I don't see you again tonight, I'm sure we'll meet again later." She kisses Garrett on the cheek and unhooks her arm. "Try not to get _too_ drunk, dear."

She goes, and they part around her like a mismatched honour guard. Aveline wishes her a good night, Varric hands her the book ("signed inside," he says with a wink, "just for you."), Merrill and Isabela wave while Fenris nods, and Anders promises to take care of Garrett's hangover. Then they cluster around her son. He laughs as his friends bear him away.

Leandra watches after them, their cracks of laughter and grins like creases, all fitting together with Garrett at the centre. Then she smiles, presses Varric's book against her chest, and walks out into Hightown with head held high. There's something to be said for being fashionably late.

 


End file.
